It was the night before Christmas... Not a creature was stirring, except my mother who, in the kitchen, was toiling for the midnight reception...

We were each minding our own business, the table having been set a long time ago, and people nicely washed and dressed-up, just waiting for the first guests to arrive.

Suddenly, piercing through the softness of the late evening, a blood curdling scream of epic proportions emanates from the kitchen. Startled, we all converge to the origin of the scream. "My got, she must have hurt herself bad" we guiltily thought as we rushed to the scene.

We get there.

Nobody was hurt, but to say that all was fine would be totally wrong.

My mother was there.

Standing by the kitchen sink.

On the counter, by the sink, a huge pot.

In the sink, some rising vapours.

In my mother's hand, right above the sink, was a colander.

In the colander were some chicken bones.

-- I dumped my soup!, said my mother, in a much meeker tone than earlier...